He did not take the holy communion this Easter day, or go to confession as was his wont.
Not, however, until a certain day later did the Cure realise this, though for thirty years the tailor had never omitted his Easter-time duties.
The people guessed and guessed, but they knew not on whom to cast suspicion at first.

No sane Catholic of Chaudiere could possibly have taken the holy thing.

Presently a murmur crept about that M'sieu' might have been the thief.

He was not a Catholic, and--who could tell?
Who knew where he came from?
Who knew what he had been?
Perhaps a jail-bird-robber-murderer! Charley, however, stitched on, intent upon his own struggle.
The procession passed the doorway: men bearing banners with sacred texts, acolytes swinging censers, a figure of the Saviour carved in wood borne aloft, the Cure under a silk canopy, and a long line of habitants following with sacred song.

People fell upon their knees in the street as the procession passed, and the Cure's face was bent here and there, his hand raised in blessing.
Old Louis got up from his bench, and, putting on a coat over his wool jacket, hastened to the doorway, knelt down, made the sign of the cross, and said a prayer.